Boromir picked at the food on his plate, his mind on the pirate and what had happened to him. How, how had she managed to hide all her crew? It made no sense.
The food was simple, but good. He tried to concentrate on it, only to feel his anger building yet again. That --- woman --- was going to drive him mad and she wasn't even in sight!
He rose, choosing to pace the confines of his small cabin, and tried the door yet again. Still locked. Not even a porthole he might climb out of! His sword had been confiscated, his dagger as well. And with one arm, he couldn't hope to outfight the whole lot of them. No, guile and his wits would have to be his weapons.
He didn't even have silverware as a weapon. He'd been given a spoon with which to eat the simple fare, a wooden spoon that he couldn't use as a weapon. It was old and flimsy and would probably break before he could get it stuck into one of the pirates.
A sound at the door alerted him and he dropped back into his seat before it was opened, assuming the same thoughtful position as before. "Have you come to gloat more, Fileg?" he taunted her.
"I've always thought myself more of a hawk than a little bird," she returned affably. "Sindarin? I was under the impression that you spoke little or no Elvish. But that's of no importance, at the moment." She faced him squarely. "I actually came to assure myself that you were being treated well, since my men have a tendency to spoil pretty things."
Boromir chose to ignore the jibe. "I've been treated well, but would prefer my freedom," he retorted quickly. "Surely you can't be fearful of a one-armed man?"
"Ah, but even one-armed, you are a dangerous man, Boromir." Her voice was soft, yet he heard clearly the threat behind her words. "I've heard the tales of your deeds, and heard of your skill with that Elvish blade. Permit me my caution." She drew up a chair and straddled it across from him. "Now, if I were to have your word that you would commit no mayhem, nor seek to escape, I might be willing to reconsider your incarceration."
"I cannot give my word to that, Fileg," he replied sternly. "I am a soldier, and it is my duty to attempt escape to return to my King." A plan was forming in his mind even as he spoke the words. "But I do know you will not have me harmed. Your presence here only supports that fact."
Her eyebrow arched upward. "Really? Then you know nothing, Boromir." Quick as a flash, she was up and had her dagger pressed against his throat once more. "I would slit your throat now and be done with it, but you need to remain alive for the time. So, I will settle for this."
The blade sliced quickly and lightly against his cheek, yet the wound felt as though a brand had been applied to his face. He glared at her, his left hand pressed against the wound to slow the flow of blood. His temper was reawakening quickly.
"It won't even scar," she informed him as she wiped the blade clean on the arm of her tunic. "But now you know that your assumptions are wrong. I will harm you, to get what I want. I just will not kill you." Her dark eyes flashed dangerously at him. "But I will make you beg for death, if you continue playing games with me."
"I play no games," he shot back. "I merely tell you where I stand. And you have just established your stance quite well." He glared over the table at her. "You have my word that I will see you hang for your crimes. You cannot escape forever."
"Not forever, but long enough." Her words were clipped and furious. "And you would never be the one to capture me. Yet I captured you quickly enough."
She rose from the chair, indicating that their discussion was at an end, and made for the door. A knock later it was opened from without and she slipped through, and he heard the lock click into place.